


Enjolras and Grantaire's Valentine Day Surprise

by theangrywarlock



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, small bit of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangrywarlock/pseuds/theangrywarlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone from Grantaire's past comes back and wants to claim him as his Valentine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjolras and Grantaire's Valentine Day Surprise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TCRegan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=TCRegan).



> Happy V-Day to those who like chocolate.

_"Tell me you love me?"_

_Grantaire's voice was muffled from underneath the pillow._

_"Tell me you love me!"_

_"I love you," he finally muttered, his body half-asleep. When he woke up in the morning, his lover was wrapped around his body and he didn't remember anything he had said._

_The relationship was terrible. Grantaire had gone off to Paris, hoping to leave more than just his childhood behind. The break-up was horrendous only because there was no true break-up. For several months, Grantaire had found himself hounded by his lover. Everywhere he turned, there he was. Standing at a good few inches taller than Grantaire, thinner than him, and notoriously clingy, Gringoire had latched himself to Grantaire and had no desire to let him go._

_In a way, Grantaire supposed he couldn't blame the other man. There weren't many inverts in their area, certainly none worth talking to, and Gringoire had needed a friend at the time. He wasn't the best looking man, but he was far from ugly and certainly seemed inclined toward Grantaire's budding abilities as an artist. Grantaire could appreciate that._

_What he couldn't appreciate was Gringoire's gradual dependency upon him. He would call up at Grantaire's place nearly every night. He wanted to make plans throughout the entire day. Worse still, he began wanting to pose for Grantaire almost constantly. His lips turned downwards when he saw a painting that didn't include himself, and yet he heaped a great deal of praise on anything that Grantaire did for him._

_Aside from the clingyness, there was an undertone to Gringoire's words that Grantaire didn't like. A sly insinuation that Grantaire would spend the rest of his life within this town, that he wouldn't amount to anything big enough to get him out of his birthplace. Grantaire's self-esteem had been low before meeting Gringoire, but with the boy's help at first, he started to build himself up. As the relationship went on, he felt as though he was being pecked at by a vulture._

_He dreamed of his carcass rotting in the sun._

_He needed to get out of the town. He needed to get to Paris, and his grandfather had supplied for him the way. With money in hand, Grantaire left his home and headed to Paris. His only good bye to Gringoire was a note left on the man's wardrobe._

_'Forget me.'_

Grantaire sat at the Musain, several untouched bottles upon his table. He had thought he would be downing them all at a terrible rate, but when he went to take a sip, his hand shook so much that he had to put the bottle down.

"Getting your drinking in a little early, aren't you?" Courfeyrac asked, and while his words were teasing, his tone was that of concern. Grantaire wasn't sure how Courfeyrac knew when something was wrong as his friend had just recently come up the stairs.

"I have a Valentine," he said, miserably.

"Oho! Nothing so wrong with that! I get plenty myself!" Courfeyrac pulled up a chair to sit across from him. "Of course, most of the time they don't bother with cards." He nodded at the postcard in Grantaire's hand. "You look a wreck, however, so clearly this isn't from any bride-to-be."

"Far from it. I've received a few letters from him, don't ask me how he located me, but-" Grantaire paused, realizing that he had let the pronoun slip, but since Courfeyrac didn't seem taken aback or recoiling in disgust, he continued. His voice went a bit softer. "But he has and he's told me a few bothersome things."

"Bothersome in what way?"

Grantaire fidgeted uncomfortably. "We did not part on the best of terms. He wrote me about another he picked up. About their intimate relations. More than I ever wanted to know. I never wrote him back, and yet here he has told me that he has no one and, oh, see for yourself!" He thrusted the postcard at Courfeyrac.

A Grantaire without his usual rambles, his usual drink, and his usual cheer was upsetting to Courfeyrac, and he took hold of the postcard.

This Valentine's, I would like to share with you. Drop the blond and come back with me. -Gringoire

"The blond?" Courfeyrac asked.

Grantaire went red. "I paint," he offered by way of explanation. At Courfeyrac's look of confusion, he went on. "I paint Enjolras. A lot. I believe he's been in my house." It was the only explanation Grantaire could think of, and it fit all too well. Gringoire had been his frequent model when they had been together, and Grantaire never wrote to Gringoire about his friends. Or about anything, really. The idea that Gringoire had been going through his things made him feel all the more violated. "He suspects something that isn't there, but that's beside the point. He knows where I live, he is in the city, and I have no desire to see him again."

Courfeyrac gave a low whistle in sympathy. "Ah, dear friend, you are the last person I would think of to have such a stalker."

Grantaire threw his hands in the air. "Yes, yes, I get it! You may take out your jokes on me all you like!"

"No joke, I assure you. This matter is quite serious."

"So what do I do?"

Courfeyrac handed him back the postcard. "Perhaps we should find him first. Does he have a temper? Are you afraid for your life?"

"He has temper-tantrums," Grantaire struggled to piece together his memories. After so long, he never wanted to look back on his largest mistake. "He's dramatic."

"Do you think he may say anything to Enjolras?"

The color drained from Grantaire's face.

"I'll take that as a yes." Courfeyrac stood, his energy now working in abundance. He spoke quickly as he tugged Grantaire's arm. "Fortunately, I know where he is. Class, can you believe it? We ought to get to the Sorbonne just in case. No, no need to fret and sputter so, Grantaire. I'll do the talking so that if he hasn't realized anything by now, he shan't be doing so now!"

Enjolras had just been stepping out from his classes when he was accosted. The sun was particularly bright today and he drew his strength from the light. Classes were normally not so grating on him, but he was already plotting out his day's events, and most of his work was done within the shadows. It would be a long night, so he reveled in the light wherever he could get it.

"You! Blond!"

Normally Enjolras did not bother with such calls. He answered to his name and sometimes whatever Courfeyrac chose to address him as with the utmost of affection. But this voice was clearly angry and belonged to a thin man with brown hair dressed in a style Courfeyrac would have recognized from the south. Enjolras merely saw a man on a mission, and apparently that mission included him.

He was aware that he had enemies. Ultras and royalists and gendarmes and a slew of others, but he could not recognize this man for the life of him. "Myself?"

"Yes, you." The man gestured wildly at the open field, indicating that Enjolras should follow him.

Already a few heads were turning at the antics going on. Confused and wondering if it was to be pistols at high noon, Enjolras followed the unknown man to the field. At least there wasn't a darkened alley, and with so many witnesses, it was unlikely that this was a political affront. "I will admit to being slightly confused," Enjolras started.

"He's mine!"

This was not a battlecry Enjolras had been expecting. He kept his silence, hoping that the other man would say something else.

Apparently that got the best results. "You have no right to try and take him from me! I don't know what your intentions are, but I'm ready to solve this man-to-man!" With that, the man raised his fists.

Part of Enjolras' training was learning when to employ as much strength as he had, when to ensure that his opponent would have to be knocked out immediately or when to utilize potentially fatal blows. He would never take advantage or lash out too harshly against those who weren't a very clear or present threat to himself. Part of the power of being able to thoroughly trounce a man was simply not doing so. "I'm not quite sure who you're referring to when you say that he's yours, but I've no desire to fight you."

The man lunged at Enjolras. Understanding the momentum of his assailant, Enjolras merely moved aside at the last moment. The man ended up trying to turn to face him and tripped over his feet.

The crowd around them laughed, which drew Enjolras' attention to it and then back to the man. "Whatever the problem is, I'm sure we can discuss this reasonably. There's no need for fisticuffs."

But the man was up on his feet once more, spurred on by the laughter of the crowd. "You're not even that handsome! You're more akin to a female!" He lunged once again. Enjolras side-stepped him easily, and then winced as the man sprawled on the ground.

"I'm not entirely sure what my looks have to do with anything, but I will say this again. If you've a grievance with me, we can talk it out."

"Enjolras!"

Courfeyrac's cry made the crowd immediately part. He raced to his friend, which made Gringoire stop in his tracks. "Figures you have to call on your friends! Can't face me yourself?" He cried.

Enjolras ignored him in favor of Courfeyrac who whispered the explanation in his ear. Gringoire was about to call out again when he caught sight of Grantaire slowly trailing after Courfeyrac. The crowd had started to converge yet again, so he had to gently push past the people in order to get to Enjolras.

"I'm sorry!" He would have went down on his knees to beg forgiveness had Courfeyrac not laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Nothing to apologize for," he said with a grin. Grantaire's eyes were mainly on Enjolras who looked to be processing whatever information Courfeyrac had given him.

Gringoire had other ideas. "Grantaire!" He brushed off a bit more dirt from himself. "This isn't what it looks like!"

Having this particular reunion in front of strangers and friends alike hadn't been what Grantaire ever wanted for himself. "Enough, Gringoire!" He wanted to continue. He wanted to rant and rave and the fact that he was sober right now was starting to become painful. He wanted to get out the truth of the matter. He wanted Gringoire to just go home. Instead, all that came out was, "This isn't what it looks like!"

Gringoire looked from Grantaire to Enjolras. "What are you to him?" He demanded.

Grantaire blanched as Enjolras seemed to come to a conclusion. "I'm his friend. Should you have designs that will impede upon his happiness," and with this he moved between Grantaire and Gringoire, "then I will start trading you blow for blow."

Courfeyrac gave a rather diabolical smile as he rested his arm against Enjolras' shoulder, leaning against him in a cavalier manner. "And when he's done with you, I may have to take a shot. Least I could do for a friend. And that's not even counting all the others who'd like to have a few words."

Gringoire pressed his lips together. "This doesn't involve either of you."

Grantaire, emboldened and near speechless from both Enjolras' and Courfeyrac's display, wanted to agree with Gringoire. That it didn't involve them, but at the same time, he couldn't. What little self-esteem he had left to him had always risen when around his friends. There were just sometimes when he had to be convinced that they were his friends, that they didn't just tolerate old Capital R. That he was-

"I'm one of them," Grantaire announced proudly as he took his place on the other side of Enjolras. "And this involves them because you brought it to them, to me. Go home, Gringoire."

Enjolras lightly touched Grantaire's shoulder with a smile, and the sun couldn't compare to the radiance that shown from Grantaire at that moment.

To say that Gringoire left would be putting a rather bittersweet ending to Valentine's Day. Grantaire preferred to blot out those bits from his memory. Things mainly returned to normal after that. Combeferre was told about the makeshift fisticuff duel, and instead of being angry as Grantaire had feared he would be, he merely laughed it off. Prouvaire, in a whimsical mood, decorated the backroom with tiny hearts here and there. The day passed by in a flurry with the meeting progressing as normal.

And yet, at the end of the night, Enjolras stopped beside Grantaire's table. Grantaire, unable to lift his head so pissed as he was from the bottles that he could now imbibe, just smiled up at him.

"Intend to go back home tonight?"

"Mm." Non-committal answer.

Enjolras leaned down and placed a chaste kiss that warmed Grantaire far more than any alcohol ever could. "Happy Valentine's Day, my friend."

With that, he left the Musain. The smile did not leave Grantaire's face even as the rising sun crept up behind the window shades.


End file.
